A Single Touch
by satinair
Summary: Blaine Anderson is 9 years, 27 weeks, 6 days, and 3 minutes old when he discovers he has a special gift: he can bring things back to life. However, like most things in life, there are certain conditions. First touch equals life, but a second touch means dead again forever. (a Pushing Daisies AU)
1. The First Touch

A boy about the age of ten races through a field of flowers, sending petals flying as he chases his dog Digby, an adorable yellow Labrador retriever. The sun is high in the sky, lighting and warming everything it touches. The boy and his dog continue their carefree descent through the field, giggling and barking (the boy doing the giggling, of course, and the dog doing the barking) as they go along.

The boy, with bright eyes and curly dark hair, is only a few feet away from Digby, arms outstretched and fingers curling through the air as he tries to catch the small pooch. Three sets of legs speed through the bush as the duo moves. The boy reaches out, trying to make contact, but Digby is just out of touch.

_Closer_, the boy thinks, his small pink tongue peeking out of his lips as he runs. _Just a little bit closer_.

The bush gives way to a clearing, open to the road. Neither of the two notice the cars whizzing by.

The boy's name is Blaine Anderson and at this very moment in Lima, Ohio, young Blaine is 9 years, 27 weeks, 6 days, and 3 minutes old.

His dog Digby is 3 years, 2 weeks, 6 days, 5 hours and 9 minutes old.

The duo moves closer to the road. Closer and closer, Blaine just a few feet behind Digby, when a truck seems to appear out of nowhere. Digby's four feet touch the black tar of the road and he turns excitedly with his tongue hanging out to his master who is still in the field. Neither has a chance to blink before _wham!_

Blaine is so stunned he can't even scream as he watches the truck slam into his pet.

His dog Digby is 3 years, 2 weeks, 6 days, 5 hours and 9 minutes old. And not a minute older.

Time seems to slow down as Digby's golden body flies through the air and comes down with a painful sounding _crack_. A lump forms in Blaine's throat as he looks around the road to make sure no other cars are coming and runs over to his dog. He kneels beside Digby, eyes welling up with tears as he frantically looks over his body for any signs of life. There's no blood on Digby's fur, no bones sticking out, no missing skin. Nothing looks wrong.

Except the fact that he's not breathing. Blaine hears nothing except for the rapid, rhythmic pounding of his heart and the expansion and contraction of his lungs. He leans over the unmoving body of his dead dog with tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Digby's own eyes stare forward, staring without seeing, and Blaine's chest tightens because he can still see the playfulness in his precious pet's eyes.

Blaine reaches out to stroke the dog's matted fur, to pet his dog and best friend one last time. His tiny fingers reach out and finally make contact when a small static pop of electricity jumps between Blaine's index fingers and Digby's fur. Digby jumps up and Blaine jumps back with a yelp.

Blaine's jaw drops as he watches his dog scramble to his feet with a happy dog-smile on his face as if he hadn't just been dead a few seconds ago. Digby runs off into the field of daisies to resume the fun game he and Blaine were playing.

Young Blaine watches slack-jawed and furrow-browed as Digby disappears over the horizon. He looks down at his hand and stares at it wide-eyed, not exactly sure of what just happened.

A fly lands on a cupboard door and darts to and fro until _smack, _a fly swatter ends its life in one abrupt movement. The dead fly lands on the countertop. Blaine's mother sets the fly swatter down and returns to preparing a pie, pressing dough into a pie plate, a wide smile on her face.

Digby is running around outside and Blaine watches him through the window from his position across from the kitchen counter. He peers over the edge of the counter to look at the tiny fly his mother has just killed. He glances over his shoulder to make sure his mother is not watching him before reaching in and touching the dead fly.

There is a small electric pop, then the fly jumps up and flies out the open window. Blaine keeps his eyes on it as it zooms away. He looks down at his finger and examines it. He has a _gift_, but he doesn't know how he got it or what he is supposed to do with it. His gift comes with no box, no instructions, and no manufacturer's warranty. He can't return it or upgrade it. It's just _there_.

The terms of use aren't immediately clear nor are they of any immediate concern. Blaine looks out the window at where Digby is now digging a hole in the front yard (Blaine bites down on his lip nervously, knowing his mother wouldn't like Digby doing that one bit) and his gaze shifts across the street at where a young boy, about his age, with chestnut brown hair and smooth pale skin plays in the front yard of his own house.

The boy is sitting at a small plastic roundtable, surrounded by stuffed animals and dolls, with an array of plastic food in front of them. He's having a tea party.

His name is Kurt. At this very moment, he is 9 years, 42 weeks, 3 hours, and 2 minutes old. He chats animatedly with his toys. Blaine watches with interest as he picks up a tiny tea cup and brings it to his lips, his pinky sticking straight out. After taking a sip of his "tea", Kurt sets the cup down and dabs a napkin against his lips.

Blaine does not think of Kurt as being born or hatched or conceived in any way. Kurt came ready made from the Play-Doh Fun Factory of Life.

Blaine rests his chin on the counter (being barely tall enough to look over it) and watches Kurt as he plays. His mother sweeps dirt off him with a broom. Across the street, Kurt's mother comes out. She's tall and just as pale as Kurt with long light brown hair and a kind face. Kurt jumps up in his seat and runs over to her and she laughs, wrapping her son up in her arms.

Blaine is completely under Kurt's spell, unable to take his eyes off him. That is, until a blood vessel in his mother's brain bursts, killing her instantly.

Blaine vaguely hears the sound of his mother cutting fruit on a cutting board before abruptly falling to the ground with a loud _thump_. Blaine turns away from the window to find his mother dead on the linoleum floor next to the stove.

Her eyes are open and staring and Blaine is immediately reminded of how Digby was just a few hours ago. Blaine kneels down beside his mother and touches her cheek right below her eye. A bolt of static electricity passes from his tiny fingertip to her face. Her constricted pupil dilates and she blinks.

A timer goes off as Blaine slowly backs away from his mother. She stares at him with furrowed eyebrows, confused as to why she's on the floor. She opens her mind to speak and for a second Blaine fears that she knows what he did and what he's able to do and she'll chastise him for it, or worse, call him a freak.

Instead, she just asks, "Did the timer go off?"

Blaine blinks, surprised, but nods as his mother gets to her feet, brushes off her apron, and pulls on a pair of oven mitts.

"I must've slipped. Clumsy me," she says.

Blaine sits at the kitchen table, unable to look away as his mother pulls a pie out of the oven. He glances at the clock on the kitchen counter, noticing over 30 seconds had passed since when he had turned away from the window. His mother places the pie in the kitchen window to cool.

Blaine glances over the pie to across the street where Kurt is rounding up his toys and his mother begins to water the lawn with the garden hose. Kurt scowls as a bit of water touches him and his mother laughs, her laugh high and melodic, reminding Blaine of music.

Blaine turns his attention back to his mother as she readies a second pie to go into the oven. Almost a minute has passed since the moment Blaine brought her back to life.

What Blaine doesn't know is that his gift is a gift that not only gives, but also takes.

His mother twists the timer around, puts a new pie in the oven, and as she closes the oven door, Blaine notices the clock hand has almost traveled a full circle.

This is the day that Blaine discovers he can only bring the dead back to life for one minute without consequence. Any longer and someone else has to die.

Through the kitchen window, Blaine sees Kurt's mother drop to the ground. His attention is immediately brought back to his own mother as she cuts a piece of pie, puts it on a plate, and sets it down in front of him. He picks up his fork, lifts a piece of the slice to his mouth, and takes a bite. It's _heaven_.

It's the most delicious pie ever baked because it is the pie that was never meant to be. His mother is supposed to be dead and he's supposed to be pie-less. Blaine grins around his fork as the flavor explodes on his taste buds. He swallows and sets the fork down. He looks up at his mother and beams at her.

"Delicious," he says brightly and his mother's face lights up. He looks into her eyes, so full of warmth, love, and most importantly, life. Blaine doesn't regret what he did for a moment.

That is, of course, until they hear a high-pitched scream coming from across the yard.

Blaine's mother rushes to the kitchen window. She gasps and presses her hand over her mouth as she stares at the house across the street where Kurt's mother's lifeless body lays on the green grass. Blaine moves beside his mother as he watches tears stream down Kurt's face as he holds his mother's limp hand.

Kurt's father Burt runs out of the house to see what the commotion is about, his blue baseball cap almost flying off his nearly completely bald head. He stops suddenly and his eyes shift from his wife's dead body to his son. Burt runs forward and grabs Kurt and carries him into the house quickly. Kurt screams and thrashes and kicks, all while reaching out for his mother.

It breaks Blaine's heart.

Blaine stares out his bedroom window at the ambulance slowly pulling away from Kurt's house without its lights on. The sun is going down, ready to set and end the day, but Blaine doesn't want the day to end. He wants it to restart so he can stop everything bad that happened today from happening.

Blaine realizes that somehow in the grand universal scheme of things, he had traded his mother's life for Kurt's mother's life. He stares, horrified, at the spot of crushed grass where Kurt's mother's body had laid. He had caused this.

"Come on, darling, into bed," his mother coos. He takes one last look at the house across the street with all its lights off except for a single one that Blaine knows comes from Kurt's room. Guilt courses through his veins and makes his stomach lurch.

"Blaine." his mother calls. Blaine turns from the window and climbs into bed. His mother smiles warmly as him, but he can see sadness in her eyes. He wants to ask if Kurt's mother will be alright and if _Kurt_ himself will be okay, but by the look on her face, he already knows the answers.

After Blaine pulls the blankets up to cover himself, his mother rests her hands on the space next to him and looks down at her son. He wants her to hold him; he wants her to wrap her arms around him and let him cry into her chest and tell him that it's not his fault.

But she doesn't do any of that. She simply smiles down at him and says "Goodnight, angel. Sweet dreams."

This is also the day that Blaine learns the other condition of his gift. There is one more thing about touching dead things that young Blaine did not know and he learns it in the most unfortunate way.

His mother moves to kiss him on the forehead. As her lips are about to make contact with his head, there's a static pop of electricity. His mother drops to the ground, dead.

Blaine hops out of bed and kneels next to his dead mother, poking her cheek, waiting for her to open her eyes again. She doesn't. Blaine leans away from her and stares at her dead body. Somehow, he realizes what has just happened and how his special power works:

First touch, life. Second touch, dead again forever.

Blaine sits on the porch, dressed in all black. The sun beats down on him and beads of sweat break out on his forehead. He's uncomfortable and sweaty and sad and confused. His emotions shift and sway inside of him and Blaine wants nothing more than to be in his room, under his covers, hidden from the world.

Of course right now he doesn't even have a bed or covers in his room, he notes as he watches his father fill a moving van with all his belongings. After a brief mourning period, his father had panicked at raising Blaine alone. In the wake of that panic, he decided to enroll Blaine in a private boarding school.

Blaine looks across the street at Kurt's house. He can see a figure moving around in Kurt's bedroom. He briefly wonders if it is Kurt and if he would be able to go to Kurt's house right now and stay with him. He wonders if he can stay with Kurt forever.

Blaine's mother's funeral and Kurt's mother's funeral are on the same day, on opposite sides of the same graveyard. The mood is somber and Blaine can't stand it. He breaks away from his father and walks toward the other side of the graveyard, not really sure where he's going.

Kurt, from his place at his mother's funeral, does the same thing. The two young boys meet in the middle, at the peak of the cemetery hill. They stare at each other for a moment, not knowing what to say to the other. Both their faces are wet with tears and eyes rimmed red. Kurt steps forward, takes Blaine's hands, and kisses him on the lips.

It's wet and weird, but _wonderful_. Dizzy with grief, curiosity, and hormones, Blaine and Kurt share their first and only kiss.

They part and Kurt walks away from Blaine without saying a word. Blaine watches him as he heads back down the hill, back to his mother's funeral.

After a moment, Digby bounds right up to Blaine. He reaches out to pet his dog and Digby pulls away. Despite this, he wags his tail and smiles, keeping a safe distance. Blaine sighs and leads Digby down the other side of the cemetery.

The effect of his mother's death on Blaine's psyche was twofold. He avoided social attachments, fearing what he'd do if someone else he loved died. Secondly, he became obsessed with pies.

It's been 11 years, 34 weeks, 1 day and 59 minutes since the day of the funeral. Young Blaine Anderson has become the Pie Maker, a much older man with gel slicked hair and an affinity for polo shirts and expressive bowties.

Blaine stands in the middle of a kitchen in a white apron rolling and kneading dough on a metal table. Digby lies on the ground on a soft peach colored dog pillow. His head is down, but his eyes are on Blaine. Around him, tucked away and lined up on cooling shelves, are pies. Many, many deliciously fresh pies.

Outside that kitchen is a charming little bakery with round tables and simple chairs. There is a counter with a few people sitting at it, drinking coffee and eating pie. Though the bakery had only been open for a few years, everyone in Westerville is in agreement: Blaine's bakery has the best pies in town.

Outside the bakery, above the door and shaped like a cartoon pie is a sign which reads: The Pie Hole.

Back in the kitchen, Blaine works, lining the pie pan with dough. His peaches never brown and his berries are as ripe as the instant they were plucked. If they weren't so delicious and eaten so quickly, people might notice the pies stay fresh an unusually long time.

Dead, dying, and bruised fruit crowd Blaine in large, metal bowls. He lovingly plucks a dead strawberry from the bunch and places it into an empty pie crust. The bruises on the fruit instantly fade and the dead fruit spontaneously comes back to life, ripe and tasty.

Blaine smiles down at his creation. Every single previously dead fruit he touches in that kitchen will become ripe with everlasting flavor-as long as he touches it only once. Blaine notices a newly rejuvenated strawberry on the counter and sighs. He reaches out and grabs the strawberry; it instantly shrivels and darkens when it comes in contact with his skin. He chucks it into the small trashcan next to Digby's pillow.

For this reason, Blaine is a vegetarian.

He bakes alone, whistling quietly to himself. As he moves around the room, Digby is smart to avoid him. They both know the consequence of one single touch.

The dining area of the bakery is rich and textured with bright colors and funky patterns. Cheerful music plays through the speakers mounted high up on the walls. The place is dappled with customers and in the middle of it all is a single waitress named Rachel Berry.

She's young, about the same age as Blaine, and petite, with straight brown hair and bright brown eyes. She has a flair for the dramatic and a very fierce personality. She waits on one of the Pie Hole's regular customers, Santana Lopez.

"Every day I come in, I pick a pie and concentrate all my love on that pie. If I love it, then someone else will love it. And you know what? By the end of the day I've sold more of those pies than any other pie in the bakery," Rachel says passionately, clutching her white notepad to her chest.

Santana resists the urge to roll her eyes and musters up her sweetest smile. "Yeah? What pie do you love today?" she asks.

Rachel breaks out into a wide grin like she's been waiting for someone to ask her that question all day. "Rhubarb," she says.

Santana nods and says: "Then I'll have three plum. Ala mode."

Rachel scowls, but writes down Santana's order and shuffles away, muttering under her breath. Santana settles back in her usual booth by the entrance of the bakery and waits for Blaine, and her pie, to arrive. Santana Lopez, a Private Investigator, is the sole keeper of Blaine's secret and how she found out was a complete accident.

Santana had developed a _special_ way of catching her perps which sometimes involved chasing them from the roofs of buildings.

She had been chasing a large man in a black leather jacket through several buildings, jumping from roof to roof without any thought of the possible dangers. That is, of course, until the man she had been chasing jumped toward the next building to escape her, only to miss and plunge 10 stories to his death. Santana ran over to the edge of the building and peered over the ledge to see the man she had been chasing hit a trash bin below with a bone crunching noise (which the young P.I. winced at) and most definitely died on impact.

That was until the man's body bounced into Blaine who happened to be emptying the trash at the time. The man's limp hand came in contact with Blaine's face and there was a pop of electricity between them. For a moment the two men stared at each other, Santana watching from above, and then the man took off again. Blaine regained his composure and chased after him, grabbing onto the collar of the leather jacket. He jammed his index finger into the side of the man's neck and the man collapsed instantly.

From her position at the top of the building, Santana tilted her head and smirked. She had an idea. Blaine shivered, disgusted, and looked around to check if anyone had seen him. Santana let out a loud cough and he looked up. She grinned at him and gave him a little wave.

After the runaway corpse, Santana Lopez, Private Investigator, proposed a partnership with Blaine. Murders are much easier to solve when you can ask the victim who killed them, she figured.

Blaine watches Santana through the porthole window in the kitchen door. Santana looks up from her pie. Their eyes connect and she waves.

After hours, when the bakery is closed, the blinds are drawn over the windows, and the lights are dim, Blaine slips into the seat across from where Santana sits, and has been sitting most of the day. Blaine glances around before folding his hands together on the table between him and Santana and looking the young woman in the eye. He fidgets a bit, uncomfortable in his own skin, but hangs on to Santana's every word.

"So, have you given any thought about my business proposal?" she asks sweetly.

Blaine gnaws on his bottom lip before answering: "I'm just not sure I'm okay with-"

"What's there to be okay with?" Santana asks, cutting him off. "All I'm asking is for you to help justice prevail by touching some dead bodies and asking the zombies who killed them."

Blaine grimaces. "Can you not use the word 'zombie'? It's disrespectful. Stumbling around, squawking for brains. That's not how they do. And 'undead'? Nobody wants to be un-anything. Why begin a statement with a negative? It's like saying 'I don't disagree.' Just say you agree."

Santana smiles, though it doesn't reach her eyes, which show her annoyance. "Are you comfortable with 'living dead'?" she asks.

After a long beat, in which Blaine uses to think about it, he shakes his head. "You're either living or you're dead," he says. "When you're living, you're alive. When you're dead, that's what you are. And when you're dead and then you're not, you're alive again. Can't we just say 'alive again'?" he suggests with a nervous smile. "Doesn't that sound nice?"

This time, Santana doesn't hide her annoyance. "You're detracting from the point," she tells him.

Blaine tilts his head. "Are you using that word properly?"

Santana glares at him. "You are the most narcoleptic human being on this planet," she states.

"I suffer from sudden and uncontrollable attacks of deep sleep?" Blaine asks with a raised eyebrow.

"What's the other one?"

"Necrophiliac? Neurotic?" Blaine suggests.

"Words that sound alike get mixed up in my head all the time," Rachel says, butting in and smiling at them, having suddenly appeared in the middle of the bakery. The duo turns to her. "I used to think masturbation meant chewing your food." No one says anything; they just stare continue to stare at her. Rachel's smile falters. "I don't think that anymore." She laughs sheepishly and walks away.

Santana turns back to face Blaine. "Now are you interested in this opportunity or not?" Blaine hesitates to speak and Santana says: "A dog is involved."

Blaine glances down at Digby who is lying on the floor in front of the counter. "What kind of dog?"

"It's gonna be a dead dog," Santana says, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "A dead dog named Cantaloupe. They're putting her down; she allegedly killed her owner."

Blaine looks back at Santana. "When you say allegedly-"

Santana leans forward. "Cantaloupe was framed. Someone put part of the victim in her mouth." Blaine winces. "Docile as a kitten, says the family." She reaches into the bag on the seat next to her and pulls out a picture of the dog, a large, light brown chow.

"Despite it being a chow-the breed most likely to turn on its owner?" Blaine's eyes going from the picture to Santana's face. Santana scowls.

"That's racial profiling," she says, leaning back in her seat. "Look, if the dog's innocent, it's murder. And if it's murder," Santana's face lights up. "Then, there's a reward."

Blaine looks from Digby to the picture of the chow to Santana. He sighs and says: "Tell me what you know." Santana smiles, pulls out a manila folder filled with paper, and opens it.

"The facts are these: Leonard Gaswint, 39 years old, was found mauled to death in a parking garage. His dog Cantaloupe was the sole witness and only suspect in the murder," Santana says. She pulls out a reward sign: a business photo of a middle aged man, Leonard Gaswint, with text that reads: "REWARD $20,000." Blaine's eyes widen slightly at the amount, but he figures that if the amount wasn't so large, Santana wouldn't have even bothered. "Convinced of her innocence, the Gaswint family has offered a significant reward to find the real killer."

"Of course," Blaine says. "That's why you need me: so you can get the money."

"No, I'm using you for your awesome detective skills, Pie Man," Santana deadpans, rolling her eyes. "So are you in or out?"

"How are we splitting the money?" Blaine asks.

"We'll figure that out later."

"But-"

"In," Santana says, gathering her papers up and tucking them in her bag. "Or out?"

Blaine lets out a sigh. "In."

Blaine immediately regrets his decision the moment he enters the coroner's office with Santana. The coroner sits at a desk surrounded by papers, slowly filling them away into folders. Santana clears her throat and the coroner looks up.

He's an old black man with thick, gray hair. He sits at his desk with a white lab jacket on. His eyes sweep over Blaine and Santana.

"You the dog experts?" he asks.

Blaine turns to Santana, unsure of what to say, but she just answers: "Yes."

"Already had a dog expert," the coroner says, narrowing his eyes. Now Blaine panics. He's seconds from bolting from the room when he feels Santana grip his forearm.

"We're the other ones," she says.

"Mm-hmm," the coroner hums, looking at them suspiciously, but he points to a metal door. "He's in there." Santana thanks him and pulls Blaine into the room with her.

The inside of the morgue is cold and the air is stale. Santana scrunches her nose up at the smell but Blaine stands stiffly to the side, eyeing the large bump under a white sheet on one of the tables. Santana grabs his arm and pulls him forward to the sheet-covered body on the slab.

She shoves Blaine forward and he takes a breath before peeking under the sheet while Santana takes a step back.

"How's he look?" she asks, her eyes tightly closed.

Blaine tilts his head, looking down at the dead body. "He looks fine, but my threshold is pretty high so you have to take what I say with a grain of salt."

Santana takes a tentative step forward and opens her eyes. She looks down at the body and sucks in a breath. "That's _not _a grain of salt," she says. "That's one of those blocks they give cows to lick. The man's tore up."

And by "tore up" Santana means the side of his face is completely bitten off, exposing his teeth and the bones in his jaw. Dried blood crusts over the entire area and teeth marks where he was bitten can be seen right under his left eyelid and under his chin.

Blaine shrugs. "He can't help the way he is."

"It doesn't make it any less traumatic."

Blaine looks at her. "For who?"

"Me," she says. "And I'm sure him. But mainly me. I'm fine when they don't move. It's when they move that I have a problem." She shivers.

"Would it help if I turned off the light?" he asks.

Santana crosses her arms in front of her. "Me in a dark room with a dead body that you're about to zombify? Yeah, right!" She turns to leave.

Blaine calls after her: "I told you not to call them zombi-" but she's already out the door before he can finish. He takes a breath, ignoring the smell in the room, and turns back to the body. He presses a button on his watch, setting the alarm, and touches Leonard Gaswint's hand. There's a pop of electricity between their skin and Leonard's eyes fly open.

He sits upright, turns to Blaine, and smiles. "Hello!" he says brightly.

Blaine blinks, forgetting himself for a second, but then he hears the ticking of his watch. "Uh, hi, hello," he says. "Mr. Gaswint. Or Leonard. Do you prefer-"

"Oh, call me Leo," Leonard says.

Blaine nods. "Leo," he repeats. "Your, um, current condition..." He indicates the missing part of Leo's face. Leo's eyebrows constrict.

"Do I have something right here?" he asks, pointing to his face.

Blaine looks at him and says in the most serious voice: "No. There's nothing right there."

Leo sighs. "Damn dog," he mumbles.

Blaine perks up. "Cantaloupe?"

Leo looks at him funnily. "No, no," he says. "Cantaloupe's docile as a kitten. It was that Rottweiler. My secretary sicked her dog on me." Leo laughs. "She's been upset since last year's Christmas party. You know, it's a funny story..."

Blaine touches Leo's nose before he continues and Leo falls back onto the slab, the life gone from his body. Blaine covers him with the sheet and slips out of the room. Santana and the coroner look at him expectantly.

"Was it the chow?" the coroner asks.

Blaine shakes his head. "The secretary. With a Rottweiler."

Santana grins.

Rachel watches the evening news in her living room, sitting on an olive green overstuffed sofa with Digby next to her, his head on her lap. She pets him absentmindedly as she listens to the news.

"An anonymous tip led to solving the murder of a Michigan entrepreneur believed to have been fatally mauled by a family pet," the newscaster says. "The truth, however..."

There's a knock at her door and Rachel stands suddenly. Digby whines, but moves to allow her to walk to the door. She looks through her peephole to see Blaine standing outside her door, looking around with his hands in his pockets. Rachel smiles and re-ties the belt of her colorful silk robe before opening the door.

"Blaine!" she says. "How was your convention?" She steps back to allow Blaine into the apartment. He walks in and she draws close to him, flirtatious and slightly desperate, but Blaine is oblivious.

"Conventional," he says. "How was Digby?"

"Neurotic," Rachel answers, sticking by Blaine's side as he walks into her living room. "Do you pet him? Maybe if you pet him once in a while he wouldn't be so neurotic." Digby looks up from his position on the sofa. Blaine gives him a little smile and Digby's tail swishes from side to side, but he doesn't move toward his owner.

"I pet him," Blaine tells Rachel. "I'm allergic so I can't actually touch him, but I pet him."

Rachel quirks an eyebrow. "With a stick? How do you pet him?"

""A stick is _involved_. But it's more like a hand to a..." Blaine searches for the word. "Petting device."

"The dog needs to be touched," Rachel says, pressing closer to him, their chests just inches apart. Blaine steps back but Rachel follows him, grabbing him hands and holding them to her chest. "We all need to be touched."

Blaine pulls his hands away and thrusts them into his pockets. "You touch him. And-and other people touch him," he says, backing away from her and moving toward the couch.

"He's your dog. Do you touch anything?" she asks, dropping her shoulders.

"Of course I..." Blaine looks down at his feet. "I touch a lot of things."

"With affection?" Rachel reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder. Blaine stares at it and there's an uncomfortably silent moment where the only sound comes from the television as the newscaster speaks. Rachel squeezes Blaine's shoulder and he tenses up. "When was the last time someone touched you with affection?"

Blaine looks into her face. "I get touched," he says defensively. She holds his gaze for a moment until Blaine clears his throat and tilts his head toward her hand, and she drops it from his shoulder.

"Can I get Digby's leash?" he asks. Rachel scowls and mutters something under her breath, but leaves the room to get the leash. Blaine turns to face Digby. "You don't mind that I don't touch you, do you?"

Digby stands on the couch and wags his tail, smiling up at Blaine. Blaine smiles back. Though, his attention is immediately drawn away from his dog to the television.

"In other news, the body of a young man allegedly murdered aboard a cruise ship was recovered from the sea," the newscaster reports. "His identity is being held pending notification of..."

Blaine stops paying attention to what the newscaster is saying, but watches on the television screen as an image of a limp, lifeless man is hauled out of the water by a system of pulleys on the deck of the cruise ship.

Blaine is unaware that he stopped breathing until Rachel wraps Digby's leash around his neck and he gasps.

"Here's your leash," Rachel says dismissively, before walking back to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her. Blaine blinks at the television screen as he removes the leash from his neck.

"Digby, let's go, buddy," Blaine says, not taking his eyes off the TV. Digby jumps off the couch and bounds toward the front door. Blaine shakes his head to clear his thoughts and follows his dog. Digby carefully stands to the side as Blaine opens the door and they step outside into the hallway.

It's after hours and the bakery is closed. Blinds are drawn over the windows and the lights are dim. Blaine and Santana sit side by side at the counter.

Santana sips from her cup of coffee and puts it down. "Been watching the news?" she asks casually.

"Doesn't seem like much is going on in the world besides a dead boy on a boat," Blaine replies.

Santana smirks. "A lot's going on with that dead boy."

Blaine turns his head to look at her. "Is that so?"

"100,000 dollars of _so_," she says. "Interested in a conversation?"

"I could be persuaded," Blaine says, feigning nonchalance.

"You better be persuaded quick 'cause dead boy's about to go in the ground," Santana says, picking up her cup to take another sip.

This time, Blaine turns completely to face her. "They just pulled him out of the water!"

Santana shrugs. "His family wants to get him buried." She brings the cups to her lips and lets the hot liquid fill her mouth and go down her throat, warming her instantly.

Blaine puts his elbow on the counter and rests his cheek on his fist. "Where are we going?" he asks.

"Lima, Ohio." Blaine nearly slips off his seat and he lets out a strangled noise. Santana raises an eyebrow. "Ever been there?" she asks.

"I grew up there. Sort of," Blaine says. He sits up straight and clears his throat. "This dead boy from Lima, does he have a name?"

Santana sets down her cup. "Kurt Hummel," she says.

Blaine feels like he's just been punched in the stomach. His chest tightens and his stomach somersaults. Oxygen seems to rush out of his body all at once as all color drains from his face.

"_Kurt?_"


	2. The Dead Boy

Blaine and Santana stand outside a funeral parlor and stare at the elegant white doors.

"You know this boy?" Santana asks.

Blaine hesitates before answering. "I know _of _him."

"Know of him in the biblical sense?"

He tenses. "I h-haven't thought of him since I was ten."

"Think of him a lot when you were ten?" she asks with a quirked eyebrow.

"I don't remember anything about when I was ten," Blaine lies. He remembers everything about when he was ten and of course he remembers the interesting boy from his youth with the vibrant personality that always kept Blaine on his toes. In fact, he's all Blaine thinks about most of the time.

Santana doesn't press the issue any further. "He was 21 when he died, but I'm guessing you already figured that out for yourself," she says, throwing him a look that makes Blaine blush, but he just nods. "His body was found floating in the ocean moments after his body was discarded there. However, there were no witnesses to the murder."

"Except Kurt himself," Blaine mutters. Santana nods and takes a step toward the door and Blaine follows her inside the funeral home. The interior is dark oak with a floral print as the wallpaper. The funeral director, a heavy-set man in a fancy suit with rings on each finger, smiles at them and ushers them to a room. Blaine pretends not to notice as Santana slips the funeral director some money before he closes the door behind them, and leaves them alone in the room.

A simple pine casket sits in the middle of the room, and the afternoon sun shines through the window, shining a light on the casket. Blaine looks down at it and his heart thumps in his chest. Santana steps toward it and Blaine's grabs her hand. She turns and looks at him, confused.

"Uh...I just want to-I just..." He clears his throat. "Can I do this one alone? On account of, you know, the whole historical context and-"

"Got something personal you wanna say?" Santana asks, completely turning to face him now.

"No," Blaine says, but Santana crosses her arms in front of her and narrows her eyes, obviously not believing him. "Okay, _perhaps_. I have nothing to gain but a small amount of closure."

Santana steps closer to him. "And do you got so _open _that it needs closing?" she inquires.

Blaine's mind flashes back to the day Kurt's mother died. "I just want to say I'm sorry for something," he tells her. Santana peers at him, curiosity etched on her face. Blaine swallows and gives her a smile, but he can tell it comes off more like a grimace. "Just one of those stupid things kids do..." He pauses, thinking about that day again and he mumbles: "That they don't know they're doing."

There's a tense silence between them, Blaine's eyes flickering from Santana's face to the casket a few feet away. Santana drops her arms from her chest and steps away from him.

"You ask who killed him first," she commands.

Blaine nods. "Okay."

"You only got one minute," she says, pointing at the watch on his left arm.

"One minute," Blaine repeats.

"60 seconds."

"I know."

Santana walks to the door, eyeing Blaine as he stands stiffly, watching her. Her heels clatter against the linoleum floor as she walks out, closing the door behind her. Alone in the room, Blaine braces his back against the door and takes a deep breath. He swallows as he slowly approaches the casket.

Blaine runs his hand over the pine frame and lifts the lid. His breath catches in his throat as the body inside is bathed in sunlight. Kurt is pale and slim, and Blaine notes that even in death he's beautiful. A lock of his chestnut hair softly rests in the middle of his forehead and Blaine's eyes drift from Kurt's hair to where his eyelashes fan out over his cheeks. Only Prince Charming could know how Blaine felt upon looking at him.

A warm feeling washes over Blaine as he brings his finger to Kurt's body. He ponders where to touch. His finger hovers over Kurt's lips. Too forward, Blaine thinks. His eyes flicker to Kurt's ankle. Too informal. His eyes come back to Kurt's peaceful face. Blaine brings his finger to Kurt's pale cheek.

Blaine lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding as he touches Kurt's cheek. There's a static pop and Kurt's eyelashes flutter before he blinks his eyes open. Blaine looks into the blue eyes of the boy he fell in love with years ago and the rest of the world melts away.

That is, of course, until Kurt reaches up, grabs his shirt, and pulls hard, slamming Blaine's head into the lid of the casket. There's an explosion of light behind Blaine's eyes as pain shoots through his skull. He reels back, blinding reaching for some sort of support, while Kurt jumps out of the casket and picks up a chair. He holds it in front of him and slowly walks toward Blaine, raising the chair and getting ready to strike.

"Who are you?" Kurt shouts, completely confused about where he is or what's going on.

Blaine bites his lip to keep from swearing as his head throbs painfully. He opens his eyes slowly to see Kurt holding the chair and he backs away to the wall, holding his free hand up in front of him.

"Kurt, wait!" he says.

Kurt lowers the chair a little and peers at Blaine suspiciously. "How do you know my name?" he asks. He glances around the room. "Where am I?"

Blaine takes a breath. "Do you remember the boy who lived across the street from you when your mom died?"

Kurt squints at him and his jaw drops. "Blaine?" Blaine gives him a weak smile and nods. "Oh my god, Blaine!" Kurt puts down the chair and approaches him, but Blaine shakes his head, immediately regretting it as the ache he's currently experiencing increases.

"Stay there!" he shouts. Kurt stops in his tracks and opens his mouth to speak, but Blaine glances down at his watch and knows he doesn't have much time, so he rushes the words out: "Do you know what's happening right now?"

"I had the strangest dream: I was being strangled to death with a pink plastic sack."

Blaine looks down at his feet and puts his hands into his pockets as he tells Kurt: "You _were _strangled to death with a pink plastic sack." He looks back up into Kurt's eyes. "It's probably an odd thing to hear-I wasn't sure how to sugarcoat it."

Kurt looks around the room again. "Oh," he says. His eyes linger on the casket he just climbed out of. "_Oh_." He looks back at Blaine. "So this is for me?"

Blaine nods. It breaks his heart to see the forlorn look on Kurt's face. "You only have one minute." He takes a quick glance at his watch. "Um, less."

"What can I do in less than a minute?"

Blaine rubs the back of his neck nervously. "You can, uh, tell me who killed you so, y'know, justice can be served."

"Well, that's really sweet but I don't know who killed me," Kurt says and Blaine's face drops. "I went to go get ice and I dropped my room key in the ice maker and as I was thinking 'That was dumb', some guy put a plastic bag over my head and I struggled for a bit until everything went black. And then you touched my cheek," he finishes, smiling at Blaine.

Blaine didn't realize how much he had missed Kurt's smile. There's a knock on the door, bringing Blaine back to reality. He glances down at his watch.

"What's going on?" Santana asks from the other side of the door.

"Uh, just a second!" Blaine says.

"Is my time up?" Kurt asks.

"I'm sorry," Blaine says automatically.

Kurt shrugs. "Don't be. It was nice to see you again, Blaine." He turns and walks to his casket when he hears Blaine clear his throat and he glances back at him, raising an eyebrow.

"I used to-when I lived across the street from you-I had a crush," Blaine says, blushing slightly. "I was in-you were my first kiss."

Kurt turns completely to face him and takes a step forward. "Yeah? Well, you were my first kiss, too."

Blaine's heart stutters at Kurt's admission and he immediately remembers what he wanted to tell him in the first place. He stares into Kurt's eyes, all hopeful and bright and curious, much like the way Blaine remembers Kurt as a child. Blaine can't bring himself to tell him that he inadvertently killed his mother.

Before Blaine can open his mouth, Kurt says: "Do you want to be my last kiss?"

Blaine blinks. "What?"

Kurt takes another step toward him, his hands clasped behind his back. "Well, you were my first kiss and I just thought...first and last? Is that weird?"

"It's not weird," Blaine says, breaking into a grin. His insides flutter as Kurt takes another step toward him. Just looking at him makes Blaine happy and Blaine never realized just how much he was missing that feeling. "It's magical."

Kurt beams at him and now their faces are just inches away. Blaine hears his watch ticking and he knows time is almost up. Kurt's eyes slide close as he tilts his head toward Blaine and Blaine leans slightly forward. He thinks about his life and how empty it has been lately. He thinks about his childhood before his mother died and his father dropped him off at boarding school. He thinks about the boy he couldn't get off his mind since he was nine years old.

Blaine pulls back. "What if you didn't have to be dead?"

Kurt opens an eye and for a moment just stares at Blaine before opening his other eye. "Well that would be preferable," he says with a smirk.

Blaine runs to the casket and opens it wider, careful to avoid touching Kurt, and gestures to the inside. "Hop in!" he says. Kurt shoots him a questioning look but he does enter the casket. "Nobody can know. I've got to think of a way to get you out of here." He looks down at Kurt. "Can you lie here until I get back?" Kurt nods and closes his eyes as Blaine closes the lid.

Blaine emerges from the room nervous and a little sweaty. He runs over to an anxious Santana and wipes his now sweaty palms on his jeans.

"He doesn't know." He catches himself. "-_Didn't _know."

Santana folds her arms in front of her and quirks an eyebrow. "So somebody just threw his carcass over a boat-why are you sweating?" she asks, looking him over.

Blaine's heart hammers in his chest and his left eye twitches. "I'm-it's warm in there?" he says uncertainly. Santana steps closer to him.

"Your eye's twitching," she says, her face just inches from his. "When people aren't being honest, their eye twitches."

Blaine gulps. "Is that scientifically proven?"

"I don't need science," Santana retorts.

Blaine steps away from her. "It's nerves," he says. "Aggravated by a stomach thing. Like acid reflux but in my eye. I think I'm going to stay for the service."

"Is that so?"

"I'm feeling nostalgic," he says, walking back toward the viewing room with Kurt's casket. "I'll catch a later train. You remember how to get to the station? It's down the…" Blaine opens the door. "Uh…yeah. See you!" He slips into the room.

Blaine presses his ear against the door and breathes out a sigh of relief when he hears Santana's heels click against the floor and fade as she leaves. He turns and smiles as he looks at the space where Kurt's casket is.

Or rather, where his casket _was_.

Blaine runs outside the funeral home just in time to see a hearse pulling away with Kurt's casket inside it.

Kurt lies in the casket, hands folded over his stomach and eyes closed. As he's jostled around, he thinks about how he got into his current predicament. He didn't have a hard life; actually, far from it. Up until the age of sixteen, he lived in his childhood home with his father. Later he had set his dad up with the mother of his crush and soon, Kurt had gained not only a new mother, but a brother too. He had a family whom he loved and who loved him and accepted him too. He couldn't wish for anything more.

Kurt frowns suddenly. _Had_, he thinks. _Had a family. _He doesn't know the conditions of being brought back to life, but he had a feeling it didn't include popping right back into his old life.

He opens his eyes and sighs. His old life. That was the problem. Kurt had a good life, if one doesn't include the years of bullying throughout his years at school, but once he had graduated out of McKinley High school, he became _stuck_.

His dream was to move to New York and try his hand at a performing arts career. He wanted to sing on a Broadway stage, but even after trying his hardest to get into one of the best performing arts schools in the country, he hadn't been accepted. He also didn't have a back-up plan. So he stayed in Lima with his family, gotten a degree from his local community college, worked at the coffee shop he had frequented ever since he had started high school, and became stuck.

Kurt hugs his arms around himself. He doesn't like how his life has become so past tense. He's grateful and everything that Blaine brought him back to life (Kurt smiles, thinking fondly about Blaine), but he doesn't want to do what he did before. He wasn't really living before and now that he's alive once more, he doesn't want to go back to not living, not experiencing all that life had to offer, again.

Whatever is moving him stops suddenly and Kurt waits patiently for Blaine to open his casket. He doesn't. Instead, Kurt feels the casket slide and shift. He hears voices outside and he panics. He's not in the room anymore, he can tell, and he's seconds from yelling that he's alive and demanding to be let out when he thinks better of it. Blaine will come get him, he's sure of it. Kurt closes his eyes once more and tries to relax as much as possible as he thinks about the adorable little boy he was best friends with years ago and how he became a _very adorable _man.

It takes Blaine a while to find the hearse and the graveyard where Kurt's supposed to be buried. He tries not to think about the fact that it's the exact same graveyard where his mother and Kurt's mother is buried; it's the exact same graveyard where he and Kurt had had their first kiss.

Blaine sees a truck at the side of the road and he approaches it. He glances around, making sure he's not seen, as he picks up a large rock from the ground. It's heavy in his hands and he mouths a silent apology before bashing the rock against the passenger seat window. It takes about four tries before the glass breaks, sending shards flying about. Blaine winces as a few of the shards embed into his skin. He swears under his breath as he drops the rock and pulls the shards out of his hand. He pulls out a few business cards from The Pie Hole and lights them on fire with a packet of matches he always has in his wallet for emergencies (and this is really an emergency).

Blaine flings the flaming business cars into the passenger seat and watches as the fire spreads and grows. He waits until the fire is so big that it makes the glass windows crackle before fleeing from the scene. He runs up to where the graveyard workers, two men in dirt covered jumpsuits, who are slinging shovels-full of dirt onto Kurt's grave. Blaine glances at the headstone, making sure it's Kurt's, before clearing his throat. The graveyard workers turn to him.

"Um, I think somebody's truck is on fire," he says out of breath.

They look over his shoulder to see their work truck is consumed in flames. The workers gasp and run to put out the fire.

Blaine watches them to be sure they're not looking and then hops into the hole where Kurt's casket lays. He yanks the lid open and Kurt's eyes flutter open. Kurt's face breaks into a wide grin as he stares up at Blaine.

"Sorry I'm late," Blaine says with a smile.

Only Sleeping Beauty could know how Kurt felt at this very moment.

"So I can't touch you?" Kurt asks, sliding into one of the seats at the counter of The Pie Hole. He picks up the cup of coffee Blaine had laid down for him and lets the rich smell of the fresh coffee fill his nostrils. It's nighttime and Blaine had just finished closing up, so it was empty except for the two of them. Blaine stands behind the counter, wiping down the surface. He looks up at Kurt and his eyes widen slightly.

"Why would you want to—" Blaine glances around and lowers his voice, leaning a little closer to Kurt as if someone could pop out of nowhere to listen in on their conversation. "Do you want to touch me?" he asks.

"Maybe," Kurt says coyly, hiding a small smile behind his coffee cup.

Blaine stands up straight, places the cloth his was using to wipe the counter to the side, and rests his hands on the counter. "Kurt, I'm serious, you can't touch me. One touch, a single touch, and you're dead again. Forever."

Kurt puts his cup down. "I can't even hug you? What if you need a hug? A hug can turn your day around."

"I'm not a fan of the hug," Blaine says.

"That's ridiculous; everyone is a fan of the hug. You just haven't been hugged properly," Kurt tells him. "A hug is like an emotional Heimlich. Someone puts their arms around you and squeeze and all your fear and anxiety goes shooting out of your mouth like a big, wet was and you can breathe again."

Blaine sighs. "That's fine for someone else to do if I'm choking on fear and anxiety, but _you_-" he points to Kurt. "—can't touch me."

Kurt props up elbows up on the counter and rests his chin on his interlocked fingers. He peers up at Blaine. "So a kiss is out of the question?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow. Blaine's jaw drops.

"I've…lost my train of thought," he says, completely entranced by the boy in front of him.

Kurt grins and takes a sip of his coffee. "So how long have you been making pies?"

"Most of my life. But I opened this place up a few years ago," Blaine says. He chews his bottom lip nervously before he asks: "Do you want to try one?" Kurt's eyes light up and he nods. Blaine goes into the kitchen and carefully selects a strawberry pie cooling on a shelf. He picks it up, grabs a fork from one of the tables, and brings it to Kurt. Kurt smiles in gratitude before taking the fork and digging in.

The moment the pie touches his tongue, he moans. Blaine blushes at the sound.

"Oh my god, this is the most delicious pie I've ever tasted," Kurt says before swallowing his mouthful. "You use a lot of butter or something?"

Blaine shrugs. "Something," he mutters. He touches a piece of fruit that's fallen out of the pie; it shrivels before their very eyes.

"Oh," Kurt says. "Never thought I had so much in common with a pie." He looks back up at Blaine. "Why didn't you touch me twice? I haven't seen you in like ten years."

"Eleven," Blaine blurts out. "I-I have a very good memory."

"How long have you been thinking about this?" Kurt asks, going back to eating the pie.

"Like thinking-_thinking_? It wasn't premeditated. I wasn't lying in wait," Blaine replies. "More like I was musing on the idea. Not, you know, dwelling. But I wasn't seriously considering it until the exact moment I did it." He shifts awkwardly, moving his weight from one foot to the other. "Or, um, didn't do it."

Kurt stares at him for a moment, completely overwhelmed. "I always wondered if you'd come back to Lima. I guess you came back when I needed you most," he says, beaming up at Blaine. "Well, that would have been before I was killed, but this worked out."

Blaine let out a breath. "You understand you can't go back, right? You can't see your family."

"I figured," Kurt mumbles, his mouth full of pie.

"I mean, people aren't used to this sort of thing. Issues of morality and 'how come he's not dead anymore?' It'd be a disaster," Blaine says. Kurt nods as he swallows.

"It's just that—my dad. This, me being dead, is going to kill him. Do you know he had a heart attack when I was in high school?" Blaine shakes his head. "Well, he did. And I was so scared. I thought I was going to lose him like I lost my mom." Blaine feels a twinge of guilt in his stomach and he moves his eyes from Kurt's face to the ground under his feet. "I just—this is going to actually kill him. I'm his only biological son."

"You can't see him," Blaine says in a low voice.

Blaine hears the fork drop on the counter and he looks back up at Kurt's face. Kurt's eyes are watery, but he just says "I know," and sniffs before blinking back his tears. Blaine's fingers reach out to him as a reflex, but then he remembers he can't touch him. Kurt notices the movement and stares sadly at Blaine's hand. "I suppose dying is as good excuse as any to start living," he says, looking up and giving Blaine a small smile which he returns.

Kurt stands to the side as Blaine slides his key into the lock of his apartment door. There's a click and Blaine turns the handle before pushing the door open. He enters first and holds the door open for Kurt. Kurt enters and walks to the living room as Blaine closes the door behind them. He walks to the living room. Digby stands in the middle of the room, wagging his tail.

"This is Digby," Blaine says as he slouches against the wall, completely exhausted.

Kurt tilts his head at the dog. "Wasn't your old dog named Digby?"

"This is him."

"Did you—" Kurt sticks his index finger out, pantomiming poking something. "And now he's…"

"Yeah," Blaine answers sheepishly.

"Wow, you seem to do that a lot. Why do you do that a lot?"

"It's just the two of you," Blaine says. He shoves his hands into his pockets as he maneuvers his way to the couch, careful not to touch Kurt or Digby. "I hate to be a bad host, but I'm sort of exhausted from chasing your coffin." He slumps onto the couch and puts his feet up, not bothering to take off his shoes or to change into his pajamas.

"Oh, yeah, of course," Kurt says.

Blaine stretches out on the couch and yawns. "I'm going to sleep here. You take the bed," he says, muffling another yawn as his eyelids close. "Oh, my eyes are rolling into the back of my head. I'm just going to…" He trails off and within seconds, he's asleep.

Kurt grins down at his sleeping form. "I'd kiss you if it wouldn't kill me."

Kurt lies on Blaine's bed, a bed much too big for someone who sleeps alone, Kurt notes. He wonders who else has slept in this bed and what they've done in this bed. He sighs as he turns over and picks up the remote for the television feet away. Kurt turns it on and flips through the channels.

The first thing he sees is his picture on the news. "Twenty-one year old, lonely tourist Kurt Hummel was laid to rest earlier today," the newscaster says. Kurt frowns and changes the channel, but it's another news channel with his picture up next to the newscaster as he speaks.

"He is survived by his family, his father Burt, his stepmother Carole, and his stepbrother Fi—" Kurt changes the channel again.

"Boutique Travel Travel Boutique has offered a $100,000 reward in the murder of Kurt Hummel—" Kurt sits up suddenly.

"_What?_"

Kurt crouches down next to where Blaine's sleeping and uses a wooden spoon from the kitchen to poke Blaine's face. Blaine stirs and sleepily swats the spoon away. He blinks his eyes a few times before completely opening them up and looking at Kurt. He hugs his arms around himself, careful not to touch Kurt even in his sleepy haze.

"Kurt, wha—"

"Would I be alive right now if I knew who killed me?" Kurt cuts Blaine off.

Blaine furrows his eyebrows in confusion. "Of course," he says. He looks into Kurt's face and realizes something is up. "Did the news say something about the reward?"

Kurt drops the wooden spoon and glares at him. "You said you wanted to know who killed me so justice could be served, but I don't think justice is on the menu. Maybe as a side dish, but not an entrée."

Blaine blinks at him, too fatigued to understand fully what's happening. "This food metaphor is hurting my brain," he says. He sits up on the couch and Kurt moves back and sits more comfortably on the ground. "I wouldn't have known you died if it weren't for the reward."

"When were you going to tell me?" Kurt asks, his face softening.

"In the morning." There's a beat. "Or when it came up. Whichever came first."

Kurt draws his knees up to his chest and rests his head on them. "$100,000 makes a whole lot of pie."

"50 thousand," Blaine corrects. "I have a business partner."

"This is a business?"

"Not in the traditional sense."

Kurt wraps his arms around his legs, hugging them closer. "So you touch murder victims, ask who killed them, touch them again, they go back to being dead and you collect the reward?"

Blaine nods. "That's it in a nutshell."

"Are you after my reward?" Kurt asks. He sighs as he looks into Blaine's eyes, silently pleading him not to be some scumbag who is only using him for the money. "I'm not mad at you; I just want to know. I'll be mad if you lie to me, though. Is that why you're keeping me around?"

"I don't want your reward," Blaine answers.

"I'll be so mad if you're lying. You'll have me scratching the drapes."

"I'm not lying. Please don't attack the window treatment," Blaine says, trying not to smile. Kurt still looks upset but he stares into Blaine's eyes and something tells him that Blaine's not lying.

"Okay," Kurt says after a moment. "Go back to sleep."

Kurt stands and returns to the bedroom. Blaine lays his head back down on the couch, stretching out over it. He stares at the ceiling, unable to shut his eyes.

Kurt lies back in the bed and snuggles close to the wall, knowing Blaine is on the other side. He has so many conflicting emotions about this whole situation. He closes his eyes, willing himself to sleep and to deal just with everything in the morning. After a moment, something inside of him makes him reach out and put his palm on the wall. He imagines Blaine is doing the same thing.

On the other side of the wall, Blaine faces the wall and closes his eyes. He reaches out and touches lays his palm flat on the wall, imagining Kurt is doing the same. They fall asleep at the same time.


	3. The Mystery Solved

Kurt wakes up but doesn't open his eyes. He takes a moment just to take a few deep breaths. _He's alive_. He grins at the thought. He never thought he would ever be so happy just to be alive.

He opens his eyes and sunlight streams in through the open windows. Kurt rolls over and sees a blue Post-It on the lamp on the nightstand. It reads: "Please do NOT leave this apartment."

Kurt snorts and rolls his eyes as he gets out of bed. He stretches out his tired limbs before reaching over and snatching the note off the lamp. He grins down at it as he reads and re-reads it.

He supposes Blaine is just doing it for his safety. His face is all over the news; everyone thinks he's dead. It'll be weird if they see him just walking around the city. Kurt walks to Blaine's closet, frowns at how _simple _Blaine's wardrobe is, and selects a long coat. It's cardboard colored and stops just below Kurt's knees. He slips it on and selects a simple silk scarf hanging up on the side of the closet. Kurt briefly wonders who it belongs to as he wraps it around his head.

He looks around the room until his eyes fall on a pair of dark sunglasses on Blaine's dresser. Kurt smiles and grabs it before putting it on. He looks into the mirror behind Blaine's dresser and beams at his reflection. He runs his fingers through his hair, desperately wishing there was something other than hair gel in Blaine's bedroom and making a mental note to buy some other hair care products.

Kurt bends to put his shoes on and tie his laces tight. His eyes catch on the Post-It on the nightstand. He lets out a breath before walking out of the room. He crosses the kitchen and steps out the front door, the exact same time Rachel steps out of the apartment across from Blaine's. Rachel's jaw drops, surprised to see someone coming out of Blaine's apartment.

"I'm a friend of Blaine's," Kurt says quickly.

Rachel sizes him up for a moment, then, out of curiosity, asks: "Does he touch you?"

Santana sits opposite Blaine at The Pie Hole before the bakery opens. She smiles sweetly at him, folding her hands on the table in front of her.

"How was the service?" she asks conversationally.

Blaine looks down at his hands where they lie on the table. "You know, just paid my respects."

"Weren't looking to get paid?" she asks.

Blaine raises his head to look at her. "What?"

She leans closer and smiles, though her eyes are ice cold and send a shiver down Blaine's spine. "Might see a dead man speaking to you in confidence as an opportunity to make a whole lot of money by your lonesome," she says. "Regardless of prior arrangements."

Blaine shakes his head. "There's no opportunity here."

As the words come out of his mouth, Kurt and Rachel enter the bakery. Kurt slides into the seat next to Santana and Rachel stands behind them, leaning against the booth. Santana glances at Kurt and then turns her attention back to Blaine, her eyes narrowing.

"Hi," Kurt says to Santana. "Are you the business partner?"

"Yup," Santana says, her eyes boring into Blaine.

Rachel gestures to Kurt. "I found him back at the apartment. Doesn't he look a lot like that dead boy?"

Santana's jaw tightens. "He looks _exactly _like that dead boy," she says through gritted teeth.

"You should take that as a compliment," Rachel says, patting Kurt on the shoulder. "He was very cute."

"He was," Blaine says dreamily, and Kurt flashes him a smile. Santana, on the other hand, kicks Blaine under the table, sending pain shooting up Blaine's leg. Blaine bites down hard on his lip, trying to ignore the pain. "Uh, Rachel?" Rachel looks at him. "Pie time."

Rachel's face falls. "Pie time," she says flatly. She stalks away to the kitchen.

"I've been ruminating—and by ruminating, I mean pondering, not chewing cud," Kurt tells Blaine. Blaine nods and Kurt continues. "How about we solve my murder and collect the reward? Wouldn't that be poetic? Certainly an anecdote."

Santana leans closer to Blaine over the table between them. "He's supposed to be dead," she snarls.

"I thought you didn't want the reward," Blaine says to Kurt, ignoring Santana.

"He's supposed to be dead," she repeats.

"No, I didn't want _you _to want the reward. $100,000 is a lot of money." He turns to Santana.

"Three-way split? 30-30-40? It's only fair I get more; I did die for it."

"He's supposed to be dead," Santana mutters.

"I'm not a detective. I make pies," Blaine says.

Kurt looks at him. "You can't just touch somebody's life and be done with it."

"Yes, I can. That's how I roll."

"_Roll?_" Santana says, raising an eyebrow at Blaine. "Please never say that ever again." She turns her head to address Kurt. "I can do 30-30-40."

"He's supposed to be dead!" Blaine says. "Oh, come on, Kurt, this is pushing your luck."

Kurt crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Yeah, well, luck pushed me first."

Blaine and Santana stand in the middle of the kitchen of The Pie Hole. Blaine's hands are in his pockets and he squirms, knowing Santana's glaring at him without even looking at her. They face away from the kitchen door and stare at the pies cooling on the kitchen's shelves.

"It's just so shockingly stupid that I have time believing you actually did it," she says.

"You just agreed to be his partner!" Blaine shoots back, exasperated.

"Just because it's stupid does not mean I don't intend to profit from your stupidity."

"That's a double negative," Blaine mumbles.

Santana steps into his line of vision and crosses her arms. Blaine notes she's been doing that a lot more lately. "Are you in love with him?" she asks. "Because it's that level of stupid."

Blaine hesitates. "I'll…admit to being _confused_. This is a very confusing time."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Please don't have a sexuality crisis on me. You are 21; you're supposed to have it all figured out by now."

"Not confused like that!" Blaine says. "I mean…look, it's just childhood stuff—digging in the dirt—it's all coming back up."

"That makes no sense."

Blaine sighs. "I sort of did something when I was nine..." He trails off, biting his lip.

"We all have childhood issues, okay?" Santana says vehemently. "Believe me, I got the full subscription. Horror stories!"

"You don't understand, I did something really bad when I was younger," Blaine says.

"What did you do?" she asks, interested in hearing about Blaine's past.

"Something…bad." There's a pause as Santana waits for him to continue, but he doesn't.

"Gee, thanks for beings so specific," she snarks. She brings a hand to her head and rubs her temple. "You once told me that if you revive someone for over a minute, someone else has to die in their place. Who died to save Dead Boy?"

Blaine pulls out a newspaper article from his pocket and hands it to Santana. The headline reads "Inexplicable Death at Funeral Home" with a photo of Lawrence Schatz, the funeral director at where Kurt's funeral was held.

"It's a random proximity thing," Blaine explains.

The words settle in Santana's head and she slaps his shoulder. "Idiot, I was in proximity!" she yells, her anger evident on her face.

"I wasn't thinking," Blaine says, grimacing apologetically.

Santana shoots him a dirty look and turns back to the article. "I wondered what happened to him."

"He was a very, very bad man; he stole stuff off dead people and sold it on the Internet. It's all in the obituary," Blaine rattles on.

"Oh, that's nice," Santana says sarcastically. "The fact that he was a 'very, very bad man' makes you feel better about what you did?"

Blaine pauses, and then answers, honestly: "Yes. Immensely. I would've felt horrible if it was…" He tries to give her a smile. "You, for example." Santana smacks him in the back of his head with her hand and he winces, the headache from the day before starting up again. "I'm not proud!"

She puts the article in her pocket and looks at him. "You know what? I like that you did it. Makes all the terrible things I've ever done in my life seem insignificant."

"Listen to you all judgey-judge," Blaine says, waving a finger in Santana's face. She slaps it away.

"Look, Blaine, you don't know this guy," she says, grabbing onto his shoulders. "You don't know anything about him, except the fact that he got himself killed."

"He didn't get himself…" Blaine stops speaking, letting Santana's words sink in. He hadn't considered Kurt could be anything but the little boy across the street he fell in love with. Kurt had only charitable thought and his heart was filled with kindness. He was who Blaine wanted him to be and no one else.

"She's right. I'm not who you think I am."

Blaine and Santana turn suddenly to see Kurt at the doorframe of the kitchen. He leans against it, his arms down at his sides.

Santana gives Blaine a side-long glance before looking back at Kurt and calmly asking: "And who does he think you are?"

Kurt sighs as he stands straight and walks over to them. "The small town boy who never saw the world only to have his first time out into the world on his own be his last," he says, sitting down at one of the chairs in the kitchen and dropping his head onto the metal table in front of it. He looks up at the duo. "Well, that is who I am, but I've been hoisted by my own petard."

"What's a petard?" Blaine asks.

Kurt raises his head and sits up straight. "In my case, the petard is that Tahitian getaway; it was a devil's bargain."

Santana takes a step toward him. "And who's the devil?"

"Deedee Duffield," Kurt answers. "Manager of the Boutique Travel Travel Boutique. She offered me a high-seas adventure and all I had to do was pick up a package."

Blaine's eyes widened. "You're a drug mule?" he asks, scandalized.

"No!" Kurt says. He clears his throat before clarifying. "I'm a…monkey mule."

"What," is all that comes out of Santana.

Kurt sighs. "There was a silver briefcase containing two plaster monkeys that Deedee wanted me to deliver to her."

"You died for a pair of plaster monkeys," Blaine says, not believing the words.

Kurt nods. "Deedee said they weren't worth much; their value was only sentimental."

"Must've been some pretty emotional monkeys," Santana mutters.

"Look, you should ask Deedee about all of this," Kurt says. "I'm very curious as to what she has to say." Blaine and Santana look at each other and Kurt looks up at the two of them. Santana notices that both boys are looking at her expectantly.

"_Fine_," she grits out.

Kurt, Santana, and Blaine stand outside the travel agency and stare up at the bright yellow sign that reads: "Boutique Travel Travel Boutique".

"I asked around, made a few calls, and found out that it was Deedee herself who offered the reward in the first place," Santana says.

"Where does a travel agency get $100,000 from?" Blaine wonders out loud.

Kurt shrugs. "I guess when you can use your clients to smuggle stuff for you, you rack up some change."

"$100,000 is a lot of change," Santana says. "Anyway it turns out Deedee hoped the reward would catch the killer before the killer caught her."

They walk into the travel boutique and a bell chimes as they open and close the door. Blaine is startled but then looks at the bell thoughtfully.

"Anybody home?" Santana calls out. They're all surprised to find it the agency dark and devoid of human beings other than themselves. Kurt and Blaine blindly reach around the walls, trying to find a light switch. Kurt finds it and flicks the light on.

"Guess the reward fell short of achieving its desired goal," Santana commented.

In the center of the boutique, the manager's body is slumped at her desk with a pink happy face bag over her head. The trio makes their way toward the dead corpse.

"I guess I can't be too mad at her," Kurt says. "Is that how they found me? That's humiliating."

"I wonder how long she's been here," Blaine says.

Santana takes a few steps away from the dead body. "Well, touch the poor bitch and ask her."

Kurt and Blaine move closer to the body while Santana keeps her distance. Kurt takes a seat next to Deedee and pulls the bag off her head. She's slack-jawed with open, unseeing eyes and cold, pale skin. Around her neck are scars from where she was choked. Kurt touches his neck, wondering if his scars show.

Blaine sits across from them and sets the timer on his watch. He reaches out to touch Deedee when he notices Kurt watching him.

Blaine hesitates and says to Kurt: "I'm sort of embarrassed to do it in front of you." Kurt grins and playfully covers his eyes with his hand, but peeks through his fingers as Blaine reaches out and touches Deedee's cheek. There's a pop of electricity from Blaine's finger, and then Deedee jumps up and smiles at Kurt.

"Hey, Kurt!" she says cheerfully.

"Hey," Kurt says, a lot less cheerful.

"Now how did I know you'd be the first person I see when I get to, uh—" She looks around. "Is this…which one is this?"

"Neither." Kurt pauses. "Well, maybe it's both," he says, his eyes going from Santana to Blaine. He turns back to Deedee. "Look, this is the deal: you get to talk for like one minute, we're going to catch up, and then you're not talking anymore." He looks at Blaine for confirmation and Blaine nods and gives him an encouraging smile. In the background, Santana roll her eyes at the couple.

Deedee scoots her seat closer to Kurt. "Does everybody get to do this? 'Cause, boy, we have got to break it down," she says, playfully hitting Kurt's arm. Kurt tries not to scowl.

"Look, Deedee," Kurt says, shifting away from her slightly to look her straight in the eyes. "Did you know I was going to get killed?"

Deedee hesitates before saying: "I thought there might be the possibility, yes, I'm real sorry about that; I probably should've said something. But to be honest-and really, why not at this point?-if I thought it was safe, I would have done it myself." She chuckles a little to herself. "God, this is fantastic; being honest is fun!" Kurt stares at her, completely stunned.

"Ask her who killed her and you and what's with the monkeys!" Santana blurts out. Deedee looks up, surprised, as if she wasn't aware of anyone else in the room with her other than Kurt.

She turns back to Kurt. "Who are those people?" Deedee whispers to him.

"That's Santana," Kurt says indifferently. His gaze shifts to where Blaine sits across from them and he says sweetly: "And this is Blaine. He was my first kiss." Blaine gives him a shy smile as his cheeks redden.

Deedee looks over at Blaine. "You're adorable," she purrs, leaning across the desk. Blaine blushes harder. "Look at-" Deedee reaches over and pinches his cheek. There's a small static pop and she drops onto the table, instantly dead. Blaine sits up and both he and Kurt gape at Deedee's dead body.

Santana closes her eyes as she lets out an annoyed grunt. "You couldn't have..._scooted back a little_?"

"I didn't know she was going to touch my cheek; who does that?" Blaine asks, his eyes still on the body.

"Actually she does that a lot," says Kurt.

Santana steps over to them and puts a hand on Blaine's chair. "Okay, why would whoever killed you kill her when he's already got the monkeys?"

Kurt sits back in his seat. "I dropped my key in the ice maker. He couldn't get into my room," he says. "He _doesn't have _the monkeys."

"Oh no," Blaine says with a gasp.

"When you get murdered on a boat, where do they send your stuff?" Kurt asks him. Blaine drops his head onto the table, but then scoots away when he realizes Deedee's head is just inches away from his.

"Your next of kin," Santana tells Kurt.

His eyes widen. "If I got killed for the monkeys and Deedee got killed for the monkeys, then..." He stands suddenly. "_Oh_ _no_."

The sky is dark when Blaine's car screeches to a halt outside Kurt's family's house. All the lights are off and the neighborhood is dead quiet. In the car, Kurt sits next to Blaine, Santana's bag between them to keep them from accidentally touching. Santana sits in the back, scowling.

Kurt looks out the open window and smiles fondly at his house as Blaine turns the car off. Santana undoes her seatbelt and Kurt is about to do the same, when Blaine says: "Kurt, you should stay here."

Kurt looks back at him, confused. "I just want to look into the windows. Like the ghost of Christmas past," he says with a smile.

Blaine doesn't smile back. "This isn't a Christmas Carol. You're supposed to be dead." Kurt's face falls and it makes Blaine feel terrible, but he continues: "You can have your pie but you can't eat it. That's the way it works."

"I didn't know there were so many rules," Kurt mumbles, sitting back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. "I might as well still be dead."

"Do you wish I never brought you back?" Blaine asks, heartbroken. Kurt bites his lip and looks into Blaine's eyes. He sighs.

"No, I-I'm thankful, but-I mean, that's my family, Blaine. I want to see them. I'm supposed to keep everybody sane and I just disappeared. I'd die if anything happened to them." He pauses. "Well, I'd die again."

Blaine swallows and takes a moment to think, staring out the windshield. "We'll make sure your family is safe and then we'll call the police." He glances back at Kurt. "I wish I could give you an emotional Heimlich so you could cough up that wad of fear and anxiety, but I can't." Blaine looks at Santana. "Give him a hug." Santana shoots him a scathing look before leaning forward and reluctantly and awkwardly wrapping her arms around Kurt and his seat. "That was from me," Blaine says.

Kurt beams at him and says: "Thank you; I needed that." Blaine smiles back and undoes his seatbelt. Santana moves her arms from Kurt and opens the car door before slipping out into the street. Blaine steps out from the driver's side and they walk together up the walkway of the Hummel-Hudson property with Kurt watching after them from the car.

Blaine and Santana stop at the front door and Blaine ring the doorbell. The sound echoes throughout the house and they wait for someone to come to the door.

But no one does.

Blaine rings the bell again and again until Santana grabs his wrist and hisses "_No one's home, you idiot. We're going to have to break in_."

"No need!" Kurt says cheerily, appearing behind them. The duo jumps, startled, and Blaine nearly falls forward in his effort not to touch Kurt. Kurt smiles at them and states: "There's a spare key."

Blaine makes sure he has regained his footing before he turns to face Kurt. "You're supposed to be in the car!"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "You're always telling me what I'm supposed to be doing." he says. He moves away from them to a small collection of different sized rocks to the side of the front porch. He crouches low and looks through the rocks until he selects one and pulls something out from under it. He stands straight and throws the key to Santana. "Finn tends to forget to take his keys in the morning. Or lose them."

Santana puts the key in the door and turns the knob. She opens it slightly and then pauses, turning to Blaine. "Blaine," she says.

Blaine says and looks at Kurt. "You should really be in the car."

"Are you serious?" Kurt asks, exasperated. "After I helped you get in?"

Blaine nods. "It's just-"He glances at Santana for help, but she just shakes her head. "Kurt, please," he pleads. "Just this one time."

Kurt glares at him but walks away as he and Santana enter the empty house.

Once inside, Santana slips off her heels and flicks on the light switch. The room is suddenly illuminated and she turns to Blaine, bringing a finger to her lips.

"I don't think anybody is home," she whispers.

"They could be asleep," Blaine whispers back.

Santana shrugs and pads to the staircase leading upstairs. She takes a tentative step and waits. Then another step. Then another. When she sees no one is running down to ask them what they're doing in the house, she turns to Blaine and gestures for him to follow her. He hesitates before taking a step forward. He stops suddenly when he hears a branch crack outside.

"Did you hear that?" he asks Santana.

"I didn't hear anything," she replies, annoyed. "Are you coming up or not?"

"I-I think I'll stay down here. Maybe the monkeys are on the first floor," Blaine says.

Santana looks at him and lets out an exasperated sigh. "_Fine_," she says, turning away from him. She doesn't say another word before stalking up the stairs.

Blaine keeps his eyes on her as she goes until he hears the sound of something crushing leaves outside. He stealthily moves to the wall and tries to flatten himself as much as possible as he slides toward the window. He glances outside and bites down on his lip to keep from cursing when he catches Kurt peering through the window.

Outside, Kurt spots Blaine looking at him and ducks out of sight. He hazards another look through the window, wondering why he was so desperate to leave this house behind. Kurt sighs as he sneaks around to the side of the house.

He glances around, making sure he's not being watched, before he climbs up the lattice at the side of the house and reaches the window of his old room. He effortlessly pulls open the window and slips inside. Kurt grins at himself, remembering when he used to sneak in and out of the house when he was younger. He never really went anywhere; he just liked being out of the house. However, now that everybody thought he was dead and he's not allowed to see his family, he wants nothing more than to never leave this house again.

He looks around the room. It looks exactly the way he left it before he went on his trip, except for one difference: a stainless steel silver case sitting on his bed. Smuggling the monkeys put an end to his life and Kurt didn't want to be remembered as the "Lonely Tourist" (as the media had dubbed him), anymore. He wanted to be remembered as something sweeter.

Kurt opens the silver case and pulls the tiny monkey statuettes out. He holds them in one arm as he uses the other to snap the case shut. He hears footsteps outside his room and rushes over to his ensuite bathroom. He clutches the monkeys to his chest as he pulls the door closed behind him.

Santana enters Kurt's room, her heels dangling from her fingers. She walks around the bedroom until her eyes fall on the silver case. She smiles at it and walks over to the bed, not noticing the man who enters after her, silhouetted by the door. When Santana bends to pick up the case, the man moves quickly and quietly behind her. She senses she's not alone in the room and she's about to turn when a plastic bag is thrown violently over her head. Santana struggles, her arms flailing out as she sucks in air and the bag shrink-wraps to her face. The man grabs the case, pulls Santana outside the room and trudges to the bedroom next to Kurt's when he hears someone come up the steps. He leaves the briefcase outside the door as he pulls Santana inside. He stays in the room, holding Santana's now limp body in his arms, and waits.

Blaine climbs the stairs to the second landing. It's eerily quiet upstairs and he walks slowly down the hall.

"Santana?" he calls. "Kurt?"

He rounds the corner and sees the briefcase and throws a look over his shoulder, confused. Blaine takes steady steps toward the case when he sees Kurt in his bedroom, holding the monkeys.

"_Kur_-" He's cut off as the killer moves behind him and throws a plastic bag over his head. Blaine panics and struggles against the man's grip, but he just tightens the bag around Blaine's neck. Blaine tries to use his fingernails to pull the bag off of his head, but he only succeeds in sucking the little air in the bag into his lungs and making his body go more into panic mode. He's sure that this is end and he's going to die when he hears something slam and he's dropped to the ground.

Blaine pulls the bag off his head and throws it as far as he can as he gasps for air. He takes a second to let oxygen fill his lungs before looking up to see what, or who, had saved him. Kurt stands opposite the killer, steel case held high and ready to swing again. Blaine thinks he could never love Kurt as much as he does this very moment.

The killer tilts his head at Kurt. "Didn't I kill you?"

Not bothering to answer, Kurt goes to swing the case again, but the killer pushes it away. Kurt, surprised at the other man's strength, recoils slightly, only for the killer to pull the case out of his hand and throw it behind him. It falls with a loud _clang_. There is a tense beat and Kurt and Blaine stare at the killer, unsure what to do next.

They hear the cock of a gun and all three men turn their heads to the right to see Santana holding a shotgun aimed at the killer.

"I can hold my breath for a long time," she says with a smirk. There's barely a second to react before she pulls the trigger. The shotgun kick propels Santana backward and the impact of the blast knocks the killer off his feet and sends his flying the other side of the hallway. Kurt and Blaine duck low and end up just inches away from each other. They both stand, alarmed, and jump away in different directions as Santana struggles to get to her feet. She puts the shotgun down as she takes a breath.

"Where did you find my dad's shotgun?" Kurt asks her.

Blaine's eyes widen and he swallows. "Your dad owns a shotgun?" he asks fearfully.

Kurt shrugs. "He likes to go hunting."

Santana ignores the two men and pushes past them toward the killer. She stops in front of him and looks down at where he's bleeding from his chest.

"I think he's dead," she says. She turns suddenly to Blaine. "Don't you _dare _touch him."

Blaine puts his hands up. "I wasn't going to." Both he and Kurt walk over to her and the dead body. Kurt examines the killer's face for a moment as his anger starts to bubble up. This man _killed _him for some monkeys. He'll never see his family again because of some stupid statues. Kurt doesn't even think before he kicks the killer in his side. Blaine gapes at him, but Santana just smiles.

The next day, Santana and Blaine are sitting at a booth at the Pie Hole when Kurt slips into the seat next to Santana, holding a half-eaten pie.

"This is delicious," he says to Blaine and Blaine beams in gratitude. Kurt then asks: "So what are you guys going to do with the share of the money?"

Santana sighs. "The reward was offered by Deedee herself and not by the company as a whole. So, since Deedee died, that means..."

"There's no reward," Blaine finishes.

Kurt swallows the piece of pie he had just put into his mouth. "Oh."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Santana says, staring down at her hands.

"And what did you tell my family when they found you in the house?" Kurt asks, digging his fork into the pie tin and taking another piece of the delicious baked dish.

"Well, after you two bozos left," Santana says. "I had to have a very long discussion with your father and explain that I was a private detective hired to take on the case and all that. He asked why there was a dead man in his hallway. I explained that though my methods were unconventional, I did manage to solve the case and I figured out who murdered his only biological son."

Kurt raises an eyebrow at her. "And he didn't ask you why you broke into his house? Or how?"

"It didn't come up," Santana says. Kurt can tell that she's lying but he doesn't press the matter further. Santana reaches into her bag and pulls out the two monkey statues and puts them on the table. "I got these from the police evidence locker."

Blaine crosses his arms. "Got?" he asks.

Santana shrugs. "I thought that was a better word than 'stole'," she says. "I thought they were valuable but the person I usually sell stuff to said they were absolutely worthless. Guess they really do only have sentimental value." She taps on Kurt's shoulder and motions for him to move and he does, so she slips out of the booth and stands. "I'll see you pretty ponies later." And with that, she turns and exits the Pie Hole, leaving Kurt and Blaine alone.

"So," Kurt says, smiling at Blaine.

"So," Blaine says, smiling back.

"You know, this whole thing is sort of like reincarnation, but more immediate," Kurt comments.

"Sort of."

"Do you believe in reincarnation?" Kurt asks.

"I don't want to believe in reincarnation. The planet's falling apart. Right now it's the children's problem, but if we reincarnate it's our problem."

Kurt considers this for a moment. "Never thought of it that way." He folds his hands in front of himself and asks: "Was this an act of kindness? Me, here? Were you trying to do something good for no other reason than to help me?"

Blaine bites his lip and shakes his head. "I was being...selfish," he says and Kurt's face falls. "I'd love to tell myself I was being unselfish, but I know deep down in my primal sweet spot I was being unselfish for selfish reasons." He ducks his head low and rubs the back of his neck nervously. "I just thought my world would be a better place if you were in it."

Warmth spreads throughout Kurt's body and he smiles at Blaine's unselfish selfishness. "Is there anything else I should know?" he asks.

Blaine looks up into Kurt's eyes and he remembers the day he inadvertently killed Kurt's mother. Blaine opens his mouth to tell him, but instead what comes out is a lie: "No."

Kurt reaches out and picks up the statuette monkey. "Well, I figured since this cost me my life, I should get to keep just one." He looks over at Blaine. "And seeing as I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you..." He slides the other monkey toward Blaine. "You should keep the other one."

Blaine grins at him. "It's like one of those little half-heart pendants except with monkeys."

Kurt nods. "Thanks for bringing me back to life," he says.

"You're welcome." They bring the monkeys together for a kiss, looking straight into each other's eyes as they pressed the monkeys together. When they separate them, Blaine lifts the monkey to his face to examine it. "This is heavy," he says. He and Kurt look at each other for a second.

Kurt cocks an eyebrow "You don't think...?" Without even bothering to finish the sentence, he smashes the monkey against the side of the table and Blaine does the same. Parts of the monkey shatter and break apart to reveal that they solid gold underneath.

"No way," Blaine whispers, staring at the golden monkey wide-eyed.

"Guess the value is way more than sentimental," Kurt comments. Blaine looks at him and grins, wondering how he lived this long without Kurt in his life and completely sure he doesn't want to go back.

Rachel enters The Pie Hole and sees Blaine behind the counter, serving a customer some coffee. She greets him and flashes him a smile and, when he smiles back, her insides flutter happily. She walks to the kitchen and pushes the door open to see Blaine's new friend whose name she doesn't know placing a label on one of the boxes of pies they usually send out to be delivered. He smiles at her, but Rachel doesn't smile back. She's a bit wary of him, but she's not sure why. Something in her gut tells her that he's bad news.

And it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it seems like Blaine is completely and utterly in love with him.

_No, not at all_, Rachel thinks as she slips off her bag and coat and puts on her apron. Digby sits on the floor of the kitchen and watches her as she collects all the pies from the fridge to be delivered.

"Hey, can you make sure this pie definitely gets delivered to this address?" Blaine's friend asks her. Rachel fakes her cheeriest smile and turns to him.

"Of course," she says. "Who is it to? Someone special?"

His smile falters. "Uh...no one particular," he says. "And, uh, please don't tell Blaine about this. Let's just keep it between you and me."

Rachel looks at him. "Of course," she replies. "Between you and me." He gives her another smile and walks out of the kitchen with Digby at his heels. Rachel looks at the label on the box. It's to some address in Lima, Ohio. She frowns. She's heard that town somewhere, but she doesn't remember where. She racks her brain for the answer until she hears someone knock on the kitchen door. She turns to see the delivery man at the door, waiting to collect the pies. She greets him and gives him everything, but he glances down at the one with the Lima address.

"Oh, no. I can't do this one," he says, putting the other pies on the cart, ready to wheel them out to his truck.

"Why? What's wrong?" Rachel asks. "It has a label and everything."

"Out of my range," he says, opening the kitchen door.

"But who is supposed to deliver it?"

The delivery man shrugs and repeats "Out of my range," before leaving her and the pie alone.

Rachel waits until her lunch break to deliver the pie. She tells herself she's only fulfilling her duty as an employee at the Pie Hole, but deep down she knows she's doing it because she wants to know more about the mysteriously boy who just popped up into Blaine's life.

She grabs the pie box and waits until there's no one around except for a few customers, before rushing out and running to her car. She really doesn't want Blaine asking her why she's delivering this pie herself, or worse, Blaine's friend seeing her with it.

Rachel enters her car, sets the pie box into the seat next to her, and slams the door closed. She drives quickly and before she knows it, she's in Lima, Ohio, right outside of the address. She furrows her eyebrows at the large house in front of her. She's sure she has seen it before, on the news or something.

She walks up to the front door and rings the bell. She waits, the pie seeming to get heavier and heavier in her arms as time passes. Suddenly, the door flies open, and a man in a denim shirt, jeans, and a denim cap opens the door.

"Are you another one of those reporters?" he asks, peering down at her suspiciously.

Rachel doesn't know what to say, so she just lifts the box up and says: "Pie?"

"I'm sorry?" the man says.

"This is from The Pie Hole in Westerville. Either you ordered it or someone gave it to you as a gift," Rachel says.

The man blinks at her before suddenly exclaiming: "Westerville!" Rachel jumps back, almost falling and dropping the box, but the man grabs her to steady her as she stands up straight again. "That's where that private investigator that solved my son's murder is from."

"What's the investigator's name?"

"Something Latin-y," the man says. "Sandra Lopez or San...Santos...Sa-"

"Santana Lopez?" Rachel asks.

He smiles at her and nods. "That's it!"

"I think this is from her," she says, giving him the pie. "She comes to The Pie Hole all the time."

"Well, I guess this is her way of apologizing for breaking into my house," the man says, chuckling. He opens the box and takes a deep inhale. "Mmm, that's good. Just like my son used to make." He looks back at Rachel. "I'm sorry, where are my manners. I'm Burt Hummel." He sticks out his hand for her to shake and she does.

"Rachel Berry," Rachel says. She pauses. "I'm sorry; did you say your son was murdered?"

Burt's face turns somber instantly. "Yes," he says. "On a boat."

"Is your son by any chance Kurt Hummel?" As soon as Rachel asks, she knows the answer by the look on Burt's face. Her head starts to spin. The "Lonely Tourist" (as the news called him) dies on a boat and then someone who looks just like him shows up in Blaine's life and at The Pie Hole and he asks Rachel to make sure that pie was delivered to the house of the family of The Lonely Tourist who _died on a boat and looks just like him_. Rachel doesn't notice her mouth is hanging open until she notices Burt staring at her strangely and she snaps it shut. "Uh, I think I'll be going."

Burt nods. "Okay," he says. "Thank you for the pie. And thank Santana too, for me. Have a nice day." He shoots one last confused look at her before entering the house and closing the door behind him.

"He's supposed to be dead," Rachel says, turning from the door and frowns, trying to collect her thoughts. She knew he was bad news; she just knew it. "He's supposed to be _dead_."


End file.
